Rudis
by KinReynard
Summary: As Morgiana struggles to choose what her household vessel should be, she finds unexpected advice from Masrur and learns a little more about his past in Reim. OneShot


Disclaimer: I do not own any of Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic, or any of its characters.

Doubt etched away at Morgiana's mind, as she walked away from the treasury. Wrapped up once more in the plain linens she'd borrowed from her room were her shackles. In the heat of the moment, when tasked to find something that mattered so wholly to her she could use it as a household vessel her mind had jumped to the irons immediately. She'd even rushed to her room to fetch them, thinking of the fond memories that were tied to them with every eager step.

However, once she'd left the room, her words had turned sour in her mouth. The look of concern and worry on Alibaba's face stuck with her. She realized, perhaps a little too late, that in his eyes they were the shackles of her enslavement and not the icon of her freedom. If she used them to help him, would he be able to get past what they meant? If she wore them, would he only see her as a slave again?

_Maybe_, she thought, _I made the wrong choice._

Doubt made her gnaw a little at her lower lip. So, she paced. Her feet had stepped over the same marble slab twelve times now, and her bare toes curled as she came to a stop. She'd never had so much freedom to do whatever she liked with herself, only to find she was more stressed than she'd ever been. Making a single decision shouldn't be so hard, but it was.

She glanced out between the columns, as the sunlight streamed past the gardens of Sindria towards her. All around her were people, busy making choices, and here she was. Stuck. Moments ago she'd been so confident, and now her decision had sunk to the bottom of her stomach, sticking there like stale bread.

Standing still for so long had only served to grind her nerves down to a finer dust. If everybody else could pick and choose easily, she'd just have to see how they did it. It couldn't be that hard. She was in Sindria, after all, to train and since Masrur had been kind enough to give her the rest of the day off she'd best not waste it.

Renewed, she walked down the hall, picking up her pace as she went. As the sound of clanging steel rang through the stone halls, Morgiana stopped at a door. Cracked open enough to allow a sea breeze to pass through, and fight off the stagnant heat of the palace, she found she was able to peer inside without disturbing the lesson being taught just past the entry.

Alibaba was back at work, practicing with Amon's new sword. In the light of the room, he glistened with sweat as he struggled with the long, heavy weight of the blade. Once equipped, it looked nothing like his familiar dagger, and Sharrkan was making light work of him.

"No, no! You can't just swing it around like that or your fights will be way too short!" Sharrkan sighed, stepping back to allow his student to catch his breath. His own blade swung up to rest on his shoulder.

Morgiana paused. Of course, Sharrkan must have had to make a decision on what would be his household vessel once, and he seemed just fine with his choice. The sword, she decided, was a classic decision. It was practical, and would be just as fine a weapon with or without using magoi. It also wouldn't draw too much attention. Though if she was tasked to give up her weapon for whatever reason (and she could think of plenty of excuses that might be used to separate her from a sword, or dagger, or anything deadly really) she would be at a huge disadvantage. Even more so if Alibaba had to comply with the same requests.

_Perhaps_, she thought, _a sword isn't the best idea. _

Once more her mind returned to her shackles, and she stepped back from the door as Alibaba bemoaned the size and weight of Amon's blade. Heaving a great sigh, she glanced down towards the bundle her hands. She told herself it was still a good decision. Once they were fixed up they'd look just like jewelry and would be hardly conspicuous.

_But they wouldn't be jewelry_. Her thoughts turned nasty, as they plucked at the doubt that had been needling past her confidence steadily since she'd left the treasury. Frustration began to build up, tightening her chest until she felt like her ribs would burst. Clutching the shackles close to her chest, she walked away from the training room. The hallway was suddenly too small, and the air was clotted and claustrophobic.

When the fresh wind of Sindria finally hit her, her steps slowed and her breathing steadied. Most of the courtyard was sheltered under the branches of a large and somewhat fragrant tree. The air was still cool, and the occasional breeze teased at her legs and hair. Her worries were gone for a second, brushed away with the stale air, when suddenly a voice spoke from above her.

"Are you alright?"

Pivoting on a toe so hard she cracked the floor, Morgiana spun to face the speaker only to come face to chest with her teacher. Looking up, immediately her face flushed. If he was upset, though, it didn't show on his face.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"That wasn't an answer," he said.

"I…" Morgiana thought on it for a second, before her eyes fell on the sword at her teacher's waist. Yet another household vessel that was a weapon. "… I have to choose my household vessel."

With a nod of his head, Masrur gently pushed himself off the pillar he had been leaning against, and walked into the courtyard. Understanding the wordless invitation, Morgiana followed him towards the small bench that had been sensibly been placed at the base of the tree. Taking her seat next to him, her toes still dangled just a breadth above the shale stones of the walking path. In comparison, her teacher's feet were firmly planted. Silence passed between them, but he waited patiently for her to choose her words. In truth, he didn't want to disturb her thoughts before they had a time to collect.

"I wanted to choose these," she finally said, unwrapping the shackles in her lap.

The sunlight gleamed against the cuts and cracks in the worn down metal. Masrur appraised them quietly. He held them in his hands, examining them carefully before he placed them back down on his student's lap. He said nothing, but nodded his approval to her. Surprised, Morgiana hadn't expected him to be so accepting, when everybody else had been so adamant.

"Why are you not sure?" Masrur asked.

"What kind of person am I, if when I'm finally free, I choose to put my own shackles back on," Morgiana sighed.

"You're choosing," Masrur said, placing a hand on her shoulder in support.

"Shackles are shackles," she affirmed quietly to herself, "I was stupid to think I could change that."

"No."

"Huh?" She looked to her teacher. His brows were knit together, his lips drawn into a thin line. Caught off guard by the sudden rush of emotion on his otherwise stoic face, her next words trembled as they fell from her lips. "… no?"

In a rush, Masrur stood and removed his sword from the knot in his waistcloth. Placing the tip of the sheath on the seat of the bench, his palm pressed on the pommel of the blade just enough to cause a small crack in the stone below. Sliding back in shock, Morgiana looked up between her teacher and his blade. She'd yet to see him ever hold the sword, and even now it looked awkward in the hands of the Fanalis.

"Your… vessel?" She asked.

"No."

The news surprised Morgiana. She could have sword that his vessel would have been the blade. It seemed like such a common choice. Her disbelief must have shown on her face, as Masrur took the sword by the hilt, and with his other hand braced the sheath. In quiet explanation, he removed the sword. As it pulled loose well-shined wood, and not metal, gleamed in the sunlight of the courtyard.

Speechless, Morgiana gently reached forward and ran her fingers along the waxed grains of the blade. It was a faithful mock-up of the far more deadly blade that should have been attached to the hilt, but as she ran her thumb along the age of the fake blade the wood was duller than the bottom of a spoon. Looking up to her teacher, her eyes begged him for an explanation before she could even figure the correct words to speak.

"It is a _rudis,_" he explained quietly, sitting back down on the bench as he moved the blade to his and Morgiana's laps.

"I… haven't heard that word before," Morgiana admitted, reminded of how little of the world she'd seen since she'd joined up with Alibaba.

"Before I joined Sinbad, I was a gladiator in Reim. When I was young, I was captured and brought to fight in the coliseum in the capital. I was undefeated. Until Sinbad," Masrur explained, looking down at the blade.

"What's a gladiator?" she asked.

"A slave. I had no freedom, my life was fighting and killing in an arena to entertain the people of Reim," he said, his eyes narrowing at the memory alone. "We were told, when we started fighting ,that if we survived to old age, we'd be allowed to retire."

"… nobody ever made it that long, did they?" Morgiana asked, her voice quiet in understanding.

"No. One day, I was told to fight some boy who volunteered to be a gladiator," he said. Quietly, he remembered the hate he had felt for the boy right before the fight. The very idea that somebody would agree to give up their freedom, to become little more than a dog scrapping for show, had left him so full of disdain. Before he had stepped into the arena, he'd decided that he was going to kill the boy for mocking the suffering of his slavery.

"Who would agree to be a gladiator?!" Morgiana asked, disgusted at the very thought.

"Sinbad."

"Oh."

"He wanted to learn how to control his magoi from the others in the coliseum," Masrur added, as if it alleviated any of the idiocy of Sinbad, though his face made it clear he didn't think it did.

"Did you defeat him?" Morgiana already knew the answer. She just asked to be polite.

"No. He defeated me. The crowd ruled that I was to die," Masrur noted, his voice placid as ever, but the jump in the muscle at the base of his jaw spoke of a long buried tension. "… And he said no."

Though his eyes stared at the false blade of his sword, he saw back to the arena of Reim. Sinbad must have been no older than sixteen, but his voice had such a gravity to it. With a strong, unwavering belief in himself, Sinbad asked Masrur to join him in making a better world; a world without slavery, or oppression, or suffering. Despite only knowing those things, Masrur had fallen in love with those words and rose back to his feet with a new life in him.

"We left the coliseum together," Masrur explained, running a hand along the flat of the blade in a loving caress. "This was his gift to me upon leaving."

"Why is it made of wood?" Morgiana frowned. It hardly seemed practical.

"It's a tradition, in Reim. If a gladiator lives long enough to retire, they are given a wooden sword. It symbolizes that you don't have to fight anymore."

It seemed so contrary, to Morgiana, giving a sword to represent earning peace. Then, slowly, the realization crept up on her. Reaching under the sword, she pulled her shackles back out. Masrur nodded his head, knowing that she was piecing his story and hers together.

_The meaning of an item could change,_ she thought to herself. Her fingers curled around the edges of the cuffs and a smile began to spread over her face. With a jolt, she stood, and Masrur barely was able to remove the sword from in front of her time. Looking at her face, now flushed with the joy of her realization, he was pleased with the result of her conversation. Halfway across the courtyard before realizing that she almost left without saying good-bye, she trotted back to the bench.

"Thank you," she said, with a curt bow.

"You're welcome," Masrur replied, with a nod of his head.

Spinning back on her toes, she raced off back through the palace, shackles clutched to her chest like her most precious possession. Watching her leave, content, Masrur felt a small smile creep up on his lips. He carefully placed the sword back in its sheath. His hands worried the hilt fondly, the smooth ivory worn down in places from his hands. How long had it been since he'd ever lifted the blade of a sword?

AN: Thank you for reading! Any comments are appreciated, as I get back into the swing of writing fanfiction!


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